“I’ll be in the building, too, then, whenever it goes down,” he said.
“They’ll recognize you,” Amy pointed out.
“So I’m getting coffee, waiting for you. Or on my way to get my phone back. Either way, I’ll be there.”
“Once you know we’re all in place, you can go for it,” Quinn said. “And if anything, and I mean anything, feels off to you, you hit that alarm. Twice, so we know it’s you and not just Rockwell by accident if he’s handling the phone.”
Amy nodded. She seemed so calm it was a bit unnerving, while his mind caromed around like a berserk billiard ball, bouncing from thought to idea to wish in a way he’d thought himself long past. He thought he’d given up railing at unfairness. But then, he’d underestimated what it would feel like to try and pick up some of the fragments of his life.
And he hadn’t counted on Amy.
Chapter 33
Amy ran the video clip through one more time. Her boss was on the phone, and she was waiting until he hung up. She’d already had to delay everyone when she found out Mr. Rockwell was at a last-minute, unscheduled meeting with a client. But he was back now, and since it was nearly the end of her workday, she was out of time. Everyone was in place, so it had to be now, before her boss also left for the day.
She tried for calm, but she was too nervous. But then she decided nervous could easily be interpreted as upset, which would be a good thing in this case. Because if this were real, she would be beyond upset. She would be—
“Sexting?”
Becca’s voice from right behind her made her jump. “Oh!”
“Should I buy you more condoms?”
She sounded hopeful; Amy blushed despite herself. “No, thanks.”
Then the nervousness flooded back as the light on her phone console went out. He had hung up.
Becca frowned. “There’s something else, isn’t there? I mean, I know everybody’s glued to that terror cell news, but you seem extra edgy.”
She’d been only vaguely aware of the buzz about the news story. She had no room in her mind just now for anything else. Her mind raced as she tried to think of what to say.
Tell the same story to everyone. Quinn’s warning echoed in her mind.
“I picked up Walker’s phone by mistake, and I found something that’s...bothersome,” she said. “I’m afraid he might do something foolish with it.”
Somehow saying the words to her friend calmed her, like a dress rehearsal. She could do this, she told herself. Even as she admitted Walker would never do anything like this in reality.
“You be careful,” Becca said. “He’s sexy as hell, but don’t let that blind you.”
“I know.” She managed a grimace now, but decided a troubled expression would work better with Mr. Rockwell. “He’s got some questionable ethics,” she said, practicing.
“At least you realize it,” Becca said soothingly.
That would do it with Mr. Rockwell, Amy thought.
Moments later she was beside her boss’s desk, watching him as he watched the video. When it was done, he glanced up at her. He said nothing, instead watched the short video again, this time freezing it in the moment when Mr. Armistead’s face was revealed.
“Walker told me he had proof of a bribe to a major witness. He only showed me this edited clip. But he joked about selling it to the highest bidder,” Amy said, putting on that troubled expression. “I’m afraid you were right about him.”
He looked at her steadily now. “I’m sorry, Amy.”
“Me, too,” she said.
“Unless he has an innocent explanation, that video is evidence of a crime.”
“What do you think I should do?” She tried her best to sound distraught.
“Alex’s reputation is—I thought—unassailable,” he said thoughtfully. “Let me consider tonight about the best way to approach this.”
Amy nodded. She was still a little shaky, but relieved all the precautions for her safety had been unnecessary. She sent an all clear to the Foxworth phones as she headed back to her office. When she arrived, she was startled to see Becca still there.
“I forgot,” she said with a laugh, “what I came over to give you in the first place.” She handed her a file folder. “Think you can get to this tomorrow?”
Amy nodded, thankful for the interruption of the complaint papers Becca had wanted her to go over. The embezzlement situation was fairly complex and would be a good distraction tomorrow. “I should be able to.”
“Thanks, girlfriend. You’re a lifesaver.”
“You need your own paralegal. You work so hard.”
“Why, when I can borrow you? See what happens when you’re so efficient?”
Amy laughed, feeling much calmer now. When Becca had gone she locked the folder in her desk, gathered her purse and the sweater she doubtless wouldn’t need in the early-evening LA heat and headed downstairs.
When they connected outside the coffee shop, Walker seemed to need reassurance that she was okay. She insisted she was fine. In fact, she felt pretty darn good that she’d gotten through it so easily. So good that she was looking forward to a romp with Cutter when they arrived back at her place.
“So now we wait,” Walker said as they got into the car.
“Yes.” She fastened her seat belt, then sat tapping her fingers on the armrest. “To see what he does.”
“Quinn’s got Ty monitoring my email address at Armistead’s office, and the personal address that was attached to the video. Do you think he noticed that one?”
She shifted in her seat, then shifted back. “It was showing when I handed the phone to him. I made sure of that.”
“Good.” He glanced at her. “You did good.”
“Better than I thought,” she admitted. She pulled out the phone, looked at it, then put it back in her bag. No point in looking at it again.
“Adrenaline still up?”
She looked at him. “What do you mean?”
“You’re fussing. You don’t fuss.”
“Oh.”
“Only to be expected,” he said. “Just don’t get addicted. It’ll wear you out.”
He sounded like he knew what that felt like. Baseball, when he’d thought he was going to make the big leagues? Or something else?
She was still wondering when they got to her place. Cutter’s delighted greeting made her smile, and she wondered why she had never gotten a dog. There was a lot to be said for having someone so happy to see you.
Later, her mood shifted. The three of them playing with the baseball Walker had bought for the dog was so...domestic seeming, it made her edgy. Not because she didn’t like it, but because she did. Added to that was her observation that Walker was wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt despite the warmth, and she couldn’t help wondering if it was to hide the tattoo she’d seen. And she wondered again what it stood for, which compounded her nerves.
Still, she ended up laughing at the dog’s antics, and admiring Walker’s skill with the ball, throwing it the length of the long courtyard between the units of her building, at least twice as far as she could throw it. But Cutter still brought the ball back to her part of the time, and she laughed aloud, wondering at the dog’s decision-making process.
They kept it up until the light started to fade, then finally retreated back inside. Cutter didn’t seem reluctant to give up, although amazingly he didn’t appear tired, either. Once inside, Cutter danced up to them. Dropped the ball dead center between them this time. It bounced loudly on the wood floor. They both bent to pick it up at the same moment. Bumped heads. Jerked back. Stared at each other.
And then Walker was kissing her, so swiftly she barely had time to take a breath. And then his mouth on hers took all thought of breathing away.
* * *
> Kissing her had been a bad idea, Walker thought. It had been a bad idea the first time, and the second, out on the street, had been just as bad. And kidding himself that it was part of the act made no difference.
Kissing her again had been insanity.
He stood there, staring at her, thinking once more of the transformation. Even as a child he’d recognized the intelligence, had even appreciated that his sister didn’t have the cadre of popular girls she could have had clustered around her. She preferred Amy—her brain, her heart, her absolute loyalty.
Good taste, sis.
And just thinking the word taste had been a very bad idea, Walker thought. Because taste was what he wanted to do. Every sleek, lovely inch of her. But that was only the start of what he wanted.
He stumbled. Lost in the fog of need he was startled, since he hadn’t even been moving. Then he realized what had happened.
Cutter.
The dog had come up behind him. And caught him just behind the knees, sending him forward. As if he were pushing him, crazy as that sounded. Pushing him toward Amy.
“Dog,” he said warningly.
Cutter moved away. For a moment he thought the dog had heeded the warning. But then he went to Amy. And did the same thing. More gently, only nudging her forward, but the same result.
The dog was pushing them together.
She looked so impossibly...kissed. Her eyes were wide, her mouth soft, inviting more. Irresistible.
Cutter forgotten, he gave in. Could do nothing else. He took her mouth again, not a swift, urgent kiss this time, but slower, savoring every sensation, every sweet response, urging, coaxing, every response more fuel to the bonfire he was kindling. His body surged, convinced it was going to get what it had wanted, ached for, at last. He deepened the kiss, probed with his tongue, fire racing along his nerves when she opened for him.
When he felt her tongue teasing along the ridge of his teeth in turn, the fire exploded. Took his breath away, making his head spin.
He had to breathe. He hadn’t been, he realized. It was the pause he needed, and he grabbed at what remnants of control he could.
He backed away from her. For the first time became aware of his own heightened breathing. Damn, he was actually panting after her.
Amy looked at him, the faintest of creases furrowing her brow, as if she were puzzled. By what he’d done?
Or that he’d stopped?
God knows he hadn’t wanted to stop.
“Walker?” she said softly.
“It’s the adrenaline,” he said almost desperately. “You pulled this off beautifully and you’re high on it. You’re not thinking straight.”
“I’m thinking straight for the first time in a long time.”
He took another step back. Put up his hands. “Go, Amy.”
“Why?”
He nearly groaned aloud. “Because if you don’t, I’ll kiss you again. But this time it won’t stop there.”
“What if I didn’t want it to stop?”
“Don’t,” he said hoarsely, “play with me. Not now. Not you.”
At his last words something changed in her face, her eyes. The puzzlement vanished, replaced by a slow smile that kicked heat through him all over again. Because it wasn’t just a smile of warmth and acceptance—things he now treasured more than he ever would have thought possible—but a sexy, tempting smile.
He’d thought, maybe even hoped, that someday, somewhere, he’d find a woman who made him feel this way, a woman who perhaps didn’t know how he’d let down everyone he cared about.
He’d never thought when he found that woman, it would be at home and she would know everything.
And now he was drowning in that smile, barely able to draw breath. Had she not been sure? How could she not have known how he reacted to her?
It hit him then. This was Amy. With Amy’s past. Amy, who had grown up as she had. The awkward little girl, the more awkward adolescent, scorned, not wanted. She would never assume any man wanted her. And he’d been one of the ones to do that to her, however unintentionally.
So he would make it clear. And then the decision would be hers.
“I want you,” he said bluntly. “More than I’ve ever wanted anything or anyone. So if your answer is ‘Go to hell,’ say it now.”
Her expression changed again. Became even softer somehow. And she reached out to cup his cheek.
“But you’re already in hell,” she said quietly, almost sadly.
What was this? She felt sorry for him? That was the last, the very last, thing he wanted from her. Especially now.
“Pity, Amy?”
“No. A hundred times, no.” She drew in a deep breath, then looked up at him steadily. “Just need. Want. And impatience.”
Then she slid her hand down along his arm, took his hand. Her fingers, warm, slender and strong, curled around his. She turned, clearly headed for the bedroom. Fool that he was, he resisted.
“Be sure, Amy. Because I can’t promise to be polite or even gentle.”
“I don’t want polite or need gentle. I want you,” she said, her voice so low and husky now he thought it alone was going to send him over the edge. “I’ve always, always wanted you, Walker Cole. Even when I thought I hated you.”
* * *
It had been a shock to Amy herself when she realized it was true. Even at the height of her anger at him, she’d still been drawn to him. The proverbial moth to the flame. And Hayley had been right, she couldn’t have hated him—or thought she did—as much as she had if she hadn’t loved him first.
Only now she realized that pull, that love, had never really gone away. The coin had merely turned, showing its other side when she thought the worst of him. And she realized the truth of something she’d once heard, that the opposite of love wasn’t hate, it was indifference.
And she had never, ever been indifferent to Walker.
Even once they were in her bedroom he seemed to hesitate.
“Changing your mind?” she asked.
“God, no,” he said, his voice nearly hoarse. “Just afraid you’ll change yours. Or regret this later. I couldn’t take that, Amy.”
“I won’t. I live with my decisions. And I’ve waited my whole life for this one.”
She reached up, ran a fingertip over his mouth, that mouth that did such incredible things to every nerve in her body. She saw a shiver go through him, and this proof of his response to her touch sent her heart pounding all over again.
He had been in hell. She knew it, because she knew him. She’d doubted, before, but it had been her faith in her own judgment that had been shaken. It was all so clear once she accepted that he was still Walker, who didn’t lie.
“Let me show you the way out,” she said softly.
He moved then, quickly. Decisively. He kissed her again, so deep and hot and urgent this time that it seemed to turn her bones to liquid. She sagged against him. One arm caught her, held her against his chest. He kissed her again, his other arm sliding down her back, pressing her against him. She felt the ridge of flesh against her lower belly, felt a deep, low cramp of need as she imagined it filling that aching, empty place in her.
“You...have something?” he asked, his voice thick.
It took her a second, through the haze, to realize what he meant. And thought thankfully of Becca’s teasing gift.
“Yes, thanks to a friend,” she said, registering as she answered that apparently he wasn’t a man to carry a condom around with him on the off chance. That warmed her somehow, foolish though it might have been.
He had her shirt unbuttoned faster than she could have done it herself. She watched, spellbound, her heart pounding. And for some reason she thought of his baseball days, when the slightest adjustment of his fingers would change the trajectory
and action of the pitch.
And then those fingers were on her, those strong, beautiful fingers. He brushed them over her cheek, down her jaw, then her throat. He left impossible wakes of tingling fire as he went, until she was shivering herself, wanting his touch everywhere so the neglected places wouldn’t be cold.
He cupped her breast through the pale blue bra. She nearly shuddered. Then he let his thumb swipe over her already-taut nipple, and she did shudder. A moan escaped her. He lifted her breast free of the cloth and followed with his mouth, stroking, teasing, flicking her nipple until she cried out, a sharp exclamation she couldn’t help, and didn’t want to. Just that seemed to fire him higher, and any pretense at proceeding slowly vanished.
She found herself pulling at his clothes even as he divested her of hers. She saw his gaze flick down over her, but the heat that flared in his eyes seared away any shyness or embarrassment. Besides, how could she blame him when she’d done the same, taking in the broad strength of his shoulders and chest, the flat belly, narrow hips and the jutting male flesh that made her fingers curl.
He grabbed her then, and they went down to the bed, arms and legs tangled. She was stunned by her own eagerness. Even her wildest imaginings about him had been nothing compared to this.
And then he was all over her—touching, kissing, tasting—and sanity fled. She could only react, respond, her body fairly rippling under his hands and mouth. She was glad he remembered the little foil packet, because she wasn’t thinking at all, only feeling.
She thought that moment before he slid into her would last forever. She felt as if she were balanced on a precipice, hovering, waiting, knowing she could fly, but trapped in that split second before taking off.
And then he was there, his passage eased by her fierce arousal. Slick, wet, she was more than ready for him, and yet it still shocked her, the sudden wonderful invasion. She felt stretched, filled. Whole. For the first time she felt whole, as if the world had finally come right.
She heard him groan, low and harsh. He lifted his head to look at her, and his eyes, those incredible eyes, were so intense and hot she nearly had to look away. As if he’d read her thought, he whispered, “No. Look at me, Amy.”
Operation Homecoming Page 22